My Little Corner of the World
by Scribbler
Summary: Mickey's life story. Before he was king, he was a prince. Before he was married, he fell in love. Before he was a keyblader, he was Yen Sid's student. Before he helped Sora defeat Maleficent, he became her enemy. Before he was a hero, a witch took everything he had and left him broken. And before he was an only child, he had a brother. Mickey/Minnie.


**Disclaimer****:** Ancestrally not mine.

**A/N****:** This fic ended up being far longer than I anticipated. It was originally a request fic from Iki_Teru, who wanted me to write a fic based on a song that now shares this fic's title. The reason it even got finished is entirely due to a fanartist who doesn't even know I exist – Twisted Wind. Put her name into Google, it's the first thing that comes up. Her _Count Mickey Dragul_ and _Wizard of Oz_ comic series are to DIE for! Reading her Disney comics and ogling her Mickey/Minnie fanart gave me the impetus to finally finish this thing after I started it last year, wrote like blazes for a week and then abandoned it. So this fic is respectfully dedicated to her and her magnificent art.

Warning: I wrote most of this in OCTOBER 2011 and do not know any of the new games, so any inaccuracies are totally the fault of me and my own ignorance. Also, this is a non-linear narrative. The timeline jumps about, but it does all make sense by the end.

* * *

_**My Little Corner of the World**_

© Scribbler, September 2011/August 2012

* * *

_And if you care to stay in my little corner of the world  
We could hide away in my little corner of the world  
I always knew that I'd find someone like you  
So welcome to my little corner of the world_

- from **My Little Corner of the World** by Yo La Tengo

* * *

Darkness swirled in an ever-growing vortex. Somewhere beyond its edge, Minnie was screaming. The wind howled like a thousand hysterical mourners at a funeral.

At the centre of it all, Mickey gritted his teeth and carried on. He couldn't give up. Too much was riding on this. His arms tightened around his precious cargo. Pieces of darkness crystallised around him, cutting his cheeks like shards of ice or broken glass, then vaporised and reabsorbed into the maelstrom. Everyone was counting on him. He had messed up. He had overlooked the true threat and that had led to this. Now he had to fix it.

He refused to mess up again.

* * *

Disneyland was a happy, bright, magical place, full of hopes and dreams made into reality. It was the kind of place where hope sprang eternal and wishes really did come true. Its people loved their king and queen and adored the new-born prince. Life there seemed too good to be true.

The thing about 'too good to be true' is that it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.

* * *

Mickey knew Minnie had come into the room. He could see her reflection in the oval mirror on his dresser.

The dresser was a gigantic ornate thing that once belonged to his mother and her mother before that. Having no daughter to pass it on to, she had instead bequeathed it to him and he used it even though it was very feminine in design. Every morning he made sure he was presentable in the mirror his mother had looked into as her maidservants brushed her hair and fixed her make-up. He had never liked the practise of letting servants dress him. Even as a child, he preferred to choose and put on his own clothes. It sure had made things easier when he went to study with Master Yen Sid. The ancient magician had some equally old-fashioned ideas about self-sufficiency and not taking advantage of others regardless of status.

"You're going again," Minnie said without accusation.

Mickey dropped his gaze nonetheless. "I have to."

"But …" She trailed off.

Seconds later he felt her touch on his shoulder. He wanted to shrug away from her, but he also wanted to hug her and never let go. Conflict raged inside him. It always did. He was sure it always would. Knowing that gave him the resolve to perfect his ever-present smile: you had to be good at it if you knew it always had to be there. He loved his wife with everything he had, but on days like this he didn't feel worthy of her.

"Why do you have to go alone?" she asked.

"Because … because I have to." It wasn't an answer, but it was all he had.

Minnie leaned her forehead against the back of his skull. Her breathing tickled his neck as she spoke. "Mickey, when are you going to stop punishing yourself?"

He closed his eyes. "How long is a piece of string?"

* * *

"Mickey, come back!" Minnie screamed. "It's too dangerous!"

"I have to! This is my fault!"

He ran at the doors to the chamber before she could stop him. Darkness beat against it from the other side, but he unsheathed his keyblade and ploughed into the small portion of hell they had unknowingly lived on top of all these years.

* * *

The queen's handmaiden watched her cradle the baby. She kept her own hands clasped demurely but loosely in front of her in case the queen dropped him. Queen Melody was kind and beautiful, but she had always been of a weak constitution even before her difficult pregnancy. Royalty never usually looked after their own children, but the queen had decided she didn't want the nanny the king had chosen to raise their firstborn. Instead, she wanted to do everything herself.

"Isn't he wonderful, Maeve?"

"Yes, your majesty."

The queen gently smoothed the mouseling's fur with the backs of her knuckles, as if she was afraid he might break if she touched him more than that. "Michael," she murmured, bringing him up to press her cheek to his. "Your name's Michael. Hello Michael. Say hello to him, Maeve."

"Hello, Prince Michael."

The little prince yawned and rubbed his nose with one tiny hand. He was smaller than any baby the handmaiden had ever seen before. She had heard the midwife wonder whether he would die before he saw his first birthday. If he had been a commoner he probably wouldn't have survived being born in the first place. If pure love could translate to magic, Queen Melody had saved his life that day. He had been spirited away to be cared for by medical types and she hadn't been allowed to touch him until now, much less pick him up and give him a cuddle. Now she wouldn't put him down even though her arms were trembling with fatigue.

"Michael," the queen murmured adoringly. "My precious little boy."

* * *

Darkness swamped Mickey's vision. His ringing ears went silent even though the maelstrom still raged around him. His tongue felt too thick in his mouth. He held tight to his cargo, but the burnt-ozone scent of magic vanished from his nose. One by one, his senses shut off. Last of all went touch. His fingers, palms, wrists and arms went numb. Despite this, he _willed_ himself not to let go.

"_To succeed, one must learn failure," _Master Yen Sid had said at the very beginning of his training. _"Just as to love is to know sorrow. To be a warrior, my pupil, you must learn what it is to be a coward, and in order to truly live, you must die."_

Mickey hadn't understood back then. He hadn't realised that the lesson was simple and often repeated in much simpler terms: you didn't know what you had until it was gone. It was only the act of losing something that made you fight hardest for it.

He wouldn't lose. He _wouldn't_.

Deaf, blind, mute and stumbling, he carried onto into the heart of the maelstrom.

* * *

A messenger raced through the castle. His breath came in quick gasps and his mind thrummed. Two years earlier he had run to spread the news of the Prince Michael's birth. That lucky coincidence had got him tenure at the palace. Now he wondered if that was about to be rescinded by the terrible news he carried. He rushed to the vizier's door and banged a fist against it.

The vizier was an old man, not given to overreaction. A widening of his eyes was tantamount to someone else screaming and throwing up their hands.

"I see," he said when he had heard the message. "Leave it with me."

"Sir, should I tell the king?"

The vizier glanced down the hallway. The king's suite was separate from the royal nursery, where the queen had slept ever since the little prince was born. He had emerged into the world sickly and endured illness upon illness over the last two years that had left him a stunted and weak toddler. He would probably never be as tall as his father because of it. The vizier pondered for a moment as the messenger wrung his hat into a crushed mess of velvet and feathers.

"I'll do it," he said at last. "If what you say is true, arrangements will have to be made. Tests and so forth. There are ways and means of checking up on this kind of thing." He puffed out a breath and dismissed the messenger.

The messenger crept away, gripped by a feeling that he had just been started something that would change not his safe, happy little world, but everybody's.

* * *

"But he's a commoner! A nothing! A nobody!"

"He is of the royal blood, your majesty."

"Only according to his mother."

"Sir, if you will permit me to say so; tests aside, he does, in some not inconsiderable part, resemble the royal personage –"

"No. No, I refuse to believe this. I flatly refuse to believe that this _commoner_ boy is anything to do with me, especially not based on the incoherent ramblings of a dead woman – whose story we only know because the boy and some trumped up _social worker _tell it that way!"

"Sir, she was far from incoherent. I performed a brief check before coming to you There are verifiable dates and –"

"I don't care!"

"Your majesty, setting aside the risk of scandal for a moment, would it not be wise to employ some sort of provable biological test to verify or deny the boy's claims?"

"No. Never. The royal house must be above suspicion in all things. Reputation is everything! I will never submit to blood tests or … whatever else you might be proposing. To even suggest it is preposterous. Preposterous! I admit, I've made mistakes in the past, but this is not one of them! I simply cannot accept that this _boy_ is anything to do with _me_ –"

"Magnus."

"M-Melody! H-How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough."

"Melody, I –"

"Tell me it's not true, Magnus."

"Melody –"

"Tell me the vizier is wrong. Tell me the messenger who brought him the news is wrong. Tell me the servants I just overheard talking in the hall are wrong. Tell me they're lying, or they've received incorrect information, or they're all suffering delusions. Tell me there has been something found in the water in the castle to make them believe something this unbelievable."

"My love –"

"Tell me you didn't do this. I'll believe you. Say what you want to the rest of the world, but just tell me the truth. Tell me that you didn't."

"I … I …"

"Sire, the queen deserves the truth."

"I …"

"Spirits preserve us; it's true, isn't it?"

"No! Melody, no, I didn't! I wouldn't betray you like that –"

"You're lying. I can tell. I still know you well enough to be able to tell. How could you? How _could_ you do this?"

"It was … it was before we were married. A dalliance. All princes have dalliances. It meant noth–"

"So help me, Magnus, if you say it meant nothing I will scream. A very good reason why it was _not_ nothing is sitting in the drawing room upstairs. Six years ago is still during our engagement. Cheating on a fiancée is no better than cheating on a wife."

"Melody, please –"

"No. No, I … I can't. I can't, Magnus. I just … I can't be near you right now."

"Melody, come back! _Come back_!"

* * *

Mickey stood on the edge of a cliff. He looked out across scrubland and giant rocks that stabbed upwards like a forest of spears. This world was a harsh place. He missed Disneyland and its rolling green countryside. As with all things, you never knew what you had until you didn't have it anymore.

"Your majesty?" Riku was poking the fire, trying to cook what little food they had found. "Is something wrong?"

Mickey looked behind him at the spindly boy. Not so spindly anymore. Riku was growing up, his body filling out. Muscle definition made the sleeves of his shirt tight. He was changing from a boy to a man. They would soon have to stop somewhere and pick up some different clothes for him; something resilient but would allow him to move properly in a fight. Mentally, Riku had already grown up a hell of a lot, but now his body was following. Emotionally … Mickey wasn't sure. Riku appeared more mature than Mickey suspected he actually was. Life had hardened his face into a scarily good mask that didn't show feelings well, or often.

"No," Mickey replied. "There's nothing out there to be concerned about. I was just thinking of home."

"Oh." Riku poked the fire a little more vigorously. "Yeah. Home."

Mickey watched him and tried not to think about the past and another boy who had refused to look at him and said 'home' like he wanted to chew the word up and spit it into open flames.

* * *

The rocking chair squeaked. For years afterward, he would remember that squeak and the sound of soft sobbing. Since he had been two years old, it was amazing he remembered anything at all, but it was a scene repeated so often over the subsequent two years that maybe what he actually remembered was a composite of finding her in that rocking chair many times. His mother's face was a silhouette in his memory, her famous beauty blotted out by shadows and twilight. Of all the paintings of his ancestors in the castle, only Queen Melody's failed to do its subject justice. Everybody said so. He wished he could remember enough to agree.

"Mother?"

This first time she turned her head, paused, and held out a hand. It was all the invitation he needed. He scrambled onto her lap for a cuddle. The smell of her perfume would stay with him as well: lavender to match the colour of her dress and the flowers threaded into her hair. She always loved lavenders, but after he turned four their smell always made him want to cry.

"My little boy," she crooned, smoothing his fur with the backs of her knuckles. She always did that. It tickled, but he held still. "You're mine. You're all mine."

"Mother, why are you crying?"

"Because … you're all mine. _Mine_. And I'm yours. Forever."

"Don't cry, Mother. I don't like it."

"I'll try not to, Michael." She brought her face close and pressed her cheek to his. He squirmed but didn't hop down off her lap. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Mother, so don't cry. Would you like to play with some of my toys? Would that make you feel better?"

"No, but a cuddle might."

"All right." He squeezed her as hard as he dared. He had been told so many times to be gentle with her.

"You're all mine," she murmured, holding him to her.

Afterwards, what he would remember most about her was that sad note in her voice, as if she was just waiting for someone to tell her she was wrong.

* * *

The nursery was dark and empty. He huddled under his blankets, wishing his mother was there to hug him tight. She had always comforted him when he had nightmares about shadows; but Mother was gone now. He had heard people whispering and looking at him funny. He knew she was never coming back. The thought made his tummy hurt so bad he worried he might throw up and make a mess the nanny would scold him about.

Something moved in the darkness. He knotted himself up under the covers. It wasn't the shadows from his dreams. Mother had always said those weren't real. They couldn't be real now she was gone. They couldn't! The nanny was here. She would protect him, just like Mother used to. Wouldn't she?

Someone stood over him. It wasn't the nanny. He whimpered even though he tried to hold it in. The person sighed – harshly, like they were irritated. A warm weight dropped onto the mattress beside him and something clamped around his shoulders. It wasn't quite a hug, but someone was holding him, and not like they were trying to stop him escaping. It was more like someone was trying to hug like Mother but wasn't practised enough to get it right.

"Moms always leave."

He raised his face so that his nose indented the covers from beneath, fitting them to his nose and mouth like a mask. "What?"

"Moms. They always leave. It's just what they do."

"A-Always?"

The voice grunted. "Uh-huh."

He started to cry softly.

"Stop that." The arms shook him. "You gotta be tough. Stuff'll … turn up. It won't fix it, but it'll … turn up." Words of comfort spoken by someone who had no idea how to give them.

He held in his tears by stuffing a fist in his mouth. When he felt more sobs welling up, he bit down and the pain made them go away.

"Good. Like I said, you gotta be tough. Never show it when you're sad. Be angry instead. The world ain't got no place for losers or weaklings."

"I don't want to be angry."

"So what? It's better than being sad."

"They're both horrible."

"Yeah, but that's life. If people see you're sad, they get weird. They treat you different. If you're angry, they respect you. They avoid you and don't ask you about how you're feeling, so you don't gotta think about the stuff that made you sad, so you're not sad anymore because you're not thinking about it."

"… Huh?"

"It makes perfect sense if you think about it."

"Does it?"

"Yes!" The voice was definitely irritated with him.

He bunched up small. "I'll try to do what you say. I'll try to be angry, not sad."

"Atta boy. Might be hope for you yet."

The arms stayed around him all night, until he fell asleep close to dawn. He woke when Father's baritone boomed from the hallway and the nanny scurried into the room to dress them for breakfast. She was an efficient but solemn goose who never gave cuddles and always flicked dirt from her apron. Usually they ate separately, here in the nursery with Mother while Father ate in the dining room downstairs and dealt with the first of the morning paperwork. Today mother was missing and the whole household was unsettled, so it seemed appropriate that this routine was disrupted too.

Seated at the dining room table, Father announced his youngest son would be the Crown Prince and inherit after him. It was usual for the firstborn to inherit, but he was categorical that the littlest prince would be the next king of Disneyland. He gave neither prince any comfort and said nothing about Mother's empty seat. It was as if she had never existed. Instead he focussed on politics and the 'divine rites of kings', whatever that meant.

By the afternoon the proclamation had been made public and scribes were writing it into the records to make it official: Prince Michael was now Crown Prince Michael and would someday be King Michael I. People chattered everywhere. Nobody seemed surprised, but they still loved to talk as if they were: _first born but second best._

Michael went up to bed that night to find Mother's bed was missing and the cupboard was empty of all her clothes. Even her rocking chair was gone. The nanny didn't like rocking chairs and had instead put a plain four-legged one in its place. In the space of twenty-four hours his mother had disappeared from his life completely.

The comforting arms didn't come back that night, even though he had another nightmare. He received no more words of comfort – that night or ever again.

* * *

All across Disneyland, bells tolled. Timely grey clouds hurried across the sky, anxious to unload their rain on a kingdom in unexpected mourning.

"The queen is dead," people told each other before the newspapers had printed off their first front page. Word travelled fast in a place where any enchanted looking glass could become a communication portal to another one somewhere else. "The queen died in the night. The royal family is devastated. She was so young! Can you believe it? And the little prince not yet four years old. Those poor, poor mice."

**SUDDEN HEART ATTACK ROBS DISNEYLAND OF BELOVED MONARCH!** blared one headline.

**CONGENITAL HEART DISEASE KILLS QUEEN!** went another.

"Broken heart, more like," went the whispers. "She was always frail, and never the same after … y'know. It's been two years, but she was never the same. Well, you wouldn't be, would you, with the evidence you've been betrayed running around the castle, playing with your son and reminding you every hour of the day and night."

Rumours spread like ivy, choking happier memories of the royal family as it has been before the scandal to end all scandals. When photographs of Queen Melody's funeral were published, nobody failed to notice there were _three_ figures by her graveside, or the huge distance between them all. They were more like three strangers who had gathered by the graveside than a family mourning one of their number.

* * *

"Minnie!"

Minnie looked up in alarm. Anybody would if their fiancé suddenly appeared in the centre of their bedchamber through a large slash in reality. Yen Sid's appalled face showed in the gap. The edges sealed shut on him, retaining her attention even as Mickey rushed to sweep her up in his arms.

"Thank goodness you're all right!"

"Mickey? How did you –? What are you –? Why wouldn't I be?" she finally asked, voice muffled by his shoulder. She pushed him away and studied his face. He had been gone for months. Nobody had expected him home until he completed his training; yet here he was, bursting back into her life ahead of schedule and acting like they were under attack. "What's wrong?"

"I … I …" He let go of her, suddenly awkward, as if it had just occurred to him what he was doing. He went from being a concerned warrior to an awkward not-quite-mouseling who hadn't seen his fiancée in ages and hadn't meant to manhandle her when he did. "I was worried about you."

"And that forced you to drop in unannounced through a … what was that?"

He didn't answer. Instead, his face changed again, shifting into a worried frown. "The Cornerstone. Is the Cornerstone of Light safe?"

"Of course it is." Minnie eyed him suspiciously. "Mickey, what's going on?"

"I need to check on it," he said as if he didn't hear her. He rushed out of the room, boots thumping down the hall. Gone were the flowing capes and jaunty feathered hats he had worn before he left. He was dressed in a plain outfit and practical shoes – very un-princely.

Minnie didn't hesitate to follow. She picked up her skirts so she could run faster. She could tell he wasn't trying to be insulting. There had been genuine panic in his face and voice. It chilled her, but she remained calm when she found him.

"See," she said when he had finished inspecting the chamber. "Now are you going to tell me what brought you home so early and in such a state?"

Mickey bashfully scratched his ears. "It's … a long story."

Minnie folded her arms. "I have time. I have a pile of work to do, but I have time to listen if you make the time to tell me."

He stared at her. It had been months, but suddenly it seemed like they had never been apart. Impulsively, he pulled her into another hug. She remembered his scent. He still smelled the same, albeit overlaid with dirt and body odour.

"You smell like you need a bath," she said.

"I've missed you," he whispered back.

Minnie returned the hug, wondering at its intensity and the emotion thickening his voice. Mickey had always been the cheerful prince. To see him so sombre was disturbing. "I've missed you too; but Mickey, you're starting to scare me."

"I thought she was going to … when she said she was going to … I was so worried …"

"What? Who? Mickey, what is –" Her words was cut off by a fervent kiss.

Mickey broke it and pressed his face into her shoulder, ears tickling her neck. He held her like he never wanted to let go. "I thought she was coming after you. I thought she was going to target this world to punish me. That witch said she was going to … to …"

"To what? Who? What witch?"

"Maleficent."

"Who is Maleficent? Mickey, tell me what's going on –" For the second time in as many minutes, she was cut off, but this time not so pleasantly.

"Well, well, well, look who's back," said a mocking voice from the doorway. "I heard about you blowing through this popsicle stand like a big gust of hot air. Five minutes in the castle and you're already well into playing the glorious hero returning from his super-special-magical adventures."

Mickey's warm embrace froze. Minnie sighed. This was the last thing he needed right now if he was already upset. Agitation made him stiffen and stare over her shoulder, like one cat spotting another and hesitating over whether to fight or flee. Mickey was a lot stronger than he had been before he left with Yen Sid, the special magic that had marked him for the wizard's tuition crackling around him like a brand new aura. She could sense the power Yen Sid had nurtured. That did not, however, mean Mickey was ready to stand up to those he had left behind.

"You weren't going to say hello to your own family?" asked the figure in the doorway, folding his arms. "Daddy Dearest probably wants a word too. You know he's _always_ so _eager_ to see his _favourite_ son and hear all about all _extraordinary_ things you've done since you last lowered yourself to visit the kingdom you're going in _inherit_ someday. Not that you'll know how to run it, since you're never actually here to _learn _how to be a king. But whoops, mustn't say anything bad about the special princey-poo. Mustn't bring up how he's never around and neglects his duties so he can go off and learn to be a better _freak._"

Mickey released Minnie but left his hand on her waist, as if using her to anchor himself against the onslaught of venom. She shot the doorway a warning look, but it went ignored.

"Don't give me that look, Minnie. You know I'm just telling the truth."

"You're being hateful," she replied. "And deliberately hurtful."

"Sometimes the truth hurts."

They were so caught up in the moment that none of them noticed the reddish-black globule drip off Mickey's keyblade. In the blink of an eye it sank into the cracks between the stone slabs of the chamber like a single drop of rain disappearing between dry paving stones.

* * *

"Home is full of sad memories and happy ones," Mickey told Riku, staring out over the cliff on the upturned sharp stones. "You can't let the sad ones drown out the happy ones."

"What about the ones that make you mad as hell?" Riku murmured. "And the ones that make you feel stupid?"

"You have to strike a balance. For every negative memory, try to remember a positive one."

"Like it's that easy," Riku snorted.

Mickey surprised him by shaking his head. "Nope. It's real difficult. Sometimes, it even seems impossible; but usually that's when you need your happy memories most."

"Is this the 'power of positive thinking'?" Riku made air quotes with his fingers, still holding the stick he had been using to poke the campfire. A burning ember tumbled off the end onto his hand and he hissed, batting it out. It left a dark smudge on his skin.

"Something like that." Mickey smiled sadly. "Actually, it's more like learning how to stay sane in a life like ours."

* * *

"Arranged marriages have been integral to the royal family for generations," said King Magnus. "Her name is Minerva. You're to be nice to her when we get there. Her father is the Count Malcolm of Wensleydale and commands a great deal of respect among the other nobles."

Trying not to fall off the seat as the carriage bounced around, his son looked up at him with huge eyes. "But Father, I don't want to get married."

"Every king gets married."

"But I'm not a king."

"You're a prince who will one day become king."

Michael wrinkled his nose. That still didn't sit right with him. "But, Father, I'm not the oldest and the scrolls you gave me to read about the divine rites of kings said –"

"You are the Crown Prince," Magnus snapped. "As has been decreed by the divine rite of _my _kingship. You will do as you are told and fulfil the duties of a Crown Prince, and you will not question them – _or me_. Is that understood?" When the answer didn't come fast enough he thundered,"_Is that understood?_"

"Y-Yes, Father." Michael cowered before remembering Father didn't like that. He straightened and promptly bounced right off his seat onto the floor.

"Get up. Don't be so bloody clumsy."

Father was snapping a lot more these days. His good humours, never often, had dried up completely since Mother died, leaving him alone to rule a country and raise a family. He would have exchanged both in a heartbeat to get her back. The fact he would never get the opportunity to make such a bargain had made him bitter.

Michael couldn't remember a time Father _hadn't_ been brusque. The king was quiet, brooding a lot and muttering orders at people through his bushy moustache. Sometimes angry insults came out of his silence like flung daggers. Sometimes he overheard people talking about how kind and gentle his father used to be, but he couldn't believe it. They talked about a Mother he didn't recognise either; a woman who smiled all the time, loved to travel and could make Father into a big softy with just a giggle or a flip of her hair. Michael had only even known someone who spent her days around the nursery, or staring out of windows like she expected someone to appear and carry her away like a princess in a fairytale. She had always been so sad, his father so angry, and the rest of the castle so tense as they waited for something to erupt that never did.

The carriage pulled up outside a massive stately home. It wasn't as big as their castle, but it was more ornate, as if it had more to prove. Count Malcolm's servants rushed to help them alight. Michael would have preferred to travel in one of the modern horseless carriages that ran on fuel, but Father hated them. King and Crown Prince were escorted up the steps to where a fat mouse in a tunic two sizes too small waited to throw his arms around the king, either not noticing or not caring that it wasn't reciprocated.

"Magnus! It's been an age since I saw you in person, old boy! All those communications and never an actual visit? You used to come see us all the time!"

"Malcolm," the king said tersely.

"Well, it's good to see you. You're looking well." The mouse called Malcolm continued to hold on until the moment became awkward. Finally he let go, only to hold Magnus at arm's length and pat his shoulders. "How have you been, old friend?"

"As well as can be expected." Magnus reached behind without looking and brought the prince forward. The untrained eye might think he was holding onto the boy like a shield. "This is my son, Prince Michael."

Malcolm stepped back to survey him. "I haven't seen you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper," he laughed. Apparently he thought his joke was wonderful, because he laughed for a long time.

The king coughed into his fist. "Yes. Well."

"Sorry; I'm just a mad old fool – but not too much of a fool, eh, Magnus? Come, come inside."

He led them into the manor, which was just as sumptuous inside as out. Long red carpets lined every hall, which were also studded with portraits and marble busts of his ancestors. They all looked fat and jolly, though the prince didn't like the dead-eyed stare of the busts. They went into a massive room with a ceiling covered in duckling-cherubs. In the centre dangled the biggest chandelier he had ever seen – even bigger than anything at Disney Castle. Beneath the chandelier was a long table. Right in the middle was a gigantic chair. A tiny figure perched on it, looking ridiculous against the gigantic brass-studded back. The scene was more than slightly silly, as she slid off with difficulty and came over to them, tripping over masses of puffy skirts and petticoats. Apparently Count Malcolm subscribed to the idea 'bigger was better' in everything.

"King Magnus, Prince Michael, this is my youngest daughter, Minerva." He gestured her forward. "Say hello to the King and Crown Prince, m'dear."

She curtseyed prettily. "Your majesties."

"Heckuva looker, eh?" Malcolm jabbed an elbow into Magnus's side. "Going to grow up to be just as beautiful as her mother, but with all my panache, wot wot."

"Indeed. Can we leave them in here while we go and sign the documents?"

"Eager to get the betrothal officialised, eh?" Malcolm tapped the side of his nose. "Minerva can look after the prince just fine, can't you my lovely?"

"Yes, Daddy."

The two adults left, allowing a cloud of uncomfortable silence to descend.

Michael scrubbed the big toe of one foot against the floor. He was uncomfortable with all this ceremony. His tail twitched as the mouseling girl waited for the door to shut and then met his eye. To his surprise, she winked.

"Only my dad calls me Minerva. My friends call me Minnie. Are you Michael to everybody?"

"Um …"

He didn't know what made him say it. Only one person had ever shortened his name, and it had been to insult him and 'bring him down a peg or two', not an affectionate nickname. Still, it seemed appropriate as she held out her hand and he tried to kiss it the way Father had said to, only to find her shaking his whole arm up and down.

"No, I'm … I'm Mickey."

* * *

"Mickey," Minnie sobbed. "Mickey, please, wake up. Wake _up_!"

Mickey rose to consciousness slowly. When he opened his eyes they were coated in some kind of sticky goo. It all but sealed the lids shut. The noise when he finally peeled them apart was like footsteps in wet cement.

"Mickey!" Minnie cried. "You're alive!"

"Gawrsh, I didn't think that'd work," Goofy said from someplace high above him.

"Didn't think what would work?" Donald asked. He was here too? Boy, the whole gang had turned up to see him … to see him do what? He couldn't remember. His head felt thick and woolly. Where was he? What had he been doing to land himself in such a state?

"Just askin' him to, y'know, wake up," Goofy replied. "I didn't think that'd work."

"You idiot, that's not why he –"

Mickey struggled to rise, but his knees were made of water and his spine from a wet noodle. Arms caught him as he fell. He smelled Minnie's rose-scented perfume, plus burnt spices and unidentifiable powders from Donald's workroom. Memory returned in a rush: realising he had messed up and overlooked Maleficent's plan; the attack; the maelstrom of darkness; his own desperate attempt to save the Cornerstone of Light; throwing Minnie's magic and then … then what? If he was alive that meant he had defeated the spell, but something wasn't right. Something had come after that. His memory fought him, but he pushed and pushed until it gave up the information.

His whole body went cold. "Did it work?" he slurred.

"Lay down," Donald advised. "You're still hurt."

Goofy tried to force him back but Mickey struggled against his friend's gentle touch. "Did it work?" he demanded. All that darkness and magic, the feeling of his life force being sucked out by the spell, the sound of a voice calling through the maelstrom and what had come next, it all had to be worth something in the end.

"Yes," Minnie sniffed. "You stupid, stupid mouse. It nearly killed you, but it worked."

Mickey shut his eyes again. Nothing else mattered at that moment. He could have keeled over and finished dying and it wouldn't have mattered. The whole castle could crumble around him and he wouldn't care.

"It worked," he mumbled. "It worked … I saved him … I … s-saved … suh …ayyy … vuh…"

He passed out again.

* * *

A face leaned over his crib. It wasn't as tall as the other faces that usually appeared there. It didn't look as nice, either. It was scowling at him. Something poked hard enough to make him bawl.

"I never wanted a brother," the face said. "Especially one like you. You're just a little shrimp. Everybody says you're too sickly and small. You'll be dead before your third birthday. That's what they're saying. They're saying I'm only allowed to stay because you're probably gonna die and then there'll be no heir to the throne."

Michael bawled. He didn't like being poked.

"Idiot." It wiped its nose on its sleeve like it was sad, but said furiously, "Why are you so special you got born here and I got born out there? Stupid baby."

"N-Not a b-baby," Michael cried. "I'm not a baaaaaabyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

"Hush now." A few minutes later Mother scooped him up. She had gone somewhere while he had his nap, otherwise she would never have let him get poked or frightened like that. "You're all right. Of course you're not a baby. You're my big boy."

Michael hugged her and looked around, but they were the only two in the nursery.

* * *

Mickey stood in front of the Cornerstone of Light. He stepped towards it, but hesitated, looking back at the door he had closed firmly behind him.

"_Mickey, when are you going to stop punishing yourself?"_ Minnie's voice echoed in his head.

When would he? He hadn't been able to give her a definite answer and he couldn't answer himself now.

"_How long is a piece of string?"_

As long as it needed to be.

The Hall of the Cornerstone flared brilliant white for a moment. When the light faded it was empty. Mickey was gone.

* * *

"Prince Michael –"

"Mickey."

"Excuse me?"

"I … I want to be called Mickey. From now on. Call me Mickey."

"If I may be so bold, sir, 'Mickey' does not have the gravitas befitting a royal mouse."

"That's, um, kind of the point."

"Young sir?"

"Look, I'm not arguing about it. Just call me Mickey from now on. Prince Mickey if you like."

"… As royal tutor, it is not my place to disobey his majesty's direct wishes. Very well then, _Prince_ _Mickey_, your father awaits your presence in the Throne Room. He has a matter he wishes to discuss with you."

"All right. But spread it around, will you? It's Mickey from now on."

"Very well, sir."

"If everyone says it, Father can't stop it. I hope."

"What was that, young sir?"

"Nothing. Let's go."

* * *

Mickey entered the Throne Room to find his father already had someone in there. King Magnus looked thunderous. His guest, by comparison, stood with an effortlessly regal bearing. He had no fur on his face or hands, no tail, and his ears were small enough that he could tuck them under a huge pointy hat. When he turned, Mickey found himself scrutinised by eyes the colour of an ice floe.

"So you're the one."

"Michael," said the king. "This … _man_ says he has come to speak to you."

Man? Mickey blinked. What was a 'man'? He had heard legends of creatures called 'mennen', but they had all died out centuries ago, if they had ever existed at all, and his picture books as a child had said they lived in trees.

The man-creature extended a long-fingered hand. Even without touching it Mickey's fur stood on end at the sheer power radiating off him. He resisted the urge to step backwards or pat his fur down like he would for static electricity.

"Um, good afternoon, sir."

The man-creature nodded but his expression didn't change. "Salutations, Prince Michael. My name is Yen Sid. I have come to your world because your magic has called me here." He spoke nobly but briskly, as if this were a mere formality he was eager to be finished with.

"My … magic?" Mickey repeated, nonplussed. Once glance at his father told him this was not the time to argue naming conventions with him.

The man-creature nodded. "You are a very special boy. Or is the correct term mouseling? How many winters have you seen?"

"Uh … you mean how old am I?"

"Indeed. That is what I said."

"Oh, I'm eleven."

"Old enough to learn a few truths about life, the universe and everything. Especially yourself."

Mickey caught his father's expression over Yen Sid's shoulder. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I don't understand."

"No," Yen Sid agreed. "And you won't for a very long time, but I'm here to fix that."

* * *

"Y'know what? Shove it. I never wanted to study the stupid keyblade anyway. I don't care if _Mickey_ gets to go off and do … whatever! I don't care if some mouldy old magician wants to teach him junk no _normal_ guy would ever need to know. Mickey's a freak and I couldn't give a flying –"

"Young sir! Language!"

Mickey winced at the second bout of foul words that greeted the admonishment. He stared hard at his books. He hated arguments; especially ones about him. He hadn't asked to wield the keyblade. He didn't even want the job. He would happily give it up if it meant he could stay here instead of go away to live on some other _world_.

"Young sir," the tutor tried in vain. "I must insist you desist from such obscenities. It is not fit or proper for one of your station."

"My _station_? Don't make me laugh. I'm only here out of obligation. An heir and a spare, right? That way daddy Dearest doesn't have to pick a new queen. And I _don't_ give a –" Mickey winced again. "– about not having spooky magical powers that make me a _freak_."

Mickey sank lower in his seat. All he had ever wanted was the approval of his family. He had never got it. Now he never would.

"I didn't care any of the other times he was picked over me, so why should I pretend to care now? I'm used to being second-best when he's around. I didn't care when he was put first in the procession at the Queen's funeral. I didn't care when he was the one who was betrothed to that Minerva girl. I didn't care when he was named Crown Prince even though he's younger than me, did I?"

"That was a matter of lineage, young sir." The tutor probably thought he was being diplomatic. The resulting fireworks said he had failed.

"Yeah, because I'm not a real prince! I never wanted to come here. I never wanted to be a part of this kind of life. I was _happy _with my mom! The only reason I ended up in this dump is because she died. I wish I'd died too! At least then I wouldn't have to be here every day, knowing nobody wants me and that I'm just some 'dalliance' that went wrong!"

"Young prince –"

"Screw you!" The door banged shut so hard papers flew off Mickey's desk.

* * *

Yen Sid was right. Not all things that lived in darkness were Heartless. Mickey hadn't listened; now he was going to pay the price. He should have figured out sooner that Maleficent would make good on her threat. He had been stupid to think she was bluffing. It had taken longer than expected, but he should have anticipated her evil. The maelstrom picked him up and twirled him around like it was going to smash him against the walls of the chamber as punishment.

"Mickey!" yelled a voice from beyond the swirling blackness. "I'm coming! Hold on!"

He was trying. He summoned up all the things Yen Sid had taught him and held his body steady. He would not let this beat him. He was a Keyblader. He. Would. Not. Die.

A wave of dark magic slapped against him like tar. The spell stuck and burned wherever it touched him. Smoke rose from his clothes. Mickey gritted his teeth and swung his keyblade again and again.

This spell had sat in the chamber, growing like fungus for years until it was powerful enough to defeat him. She had planned far in her advance, showing patience in her revenge against Mickey and Yen Sid for ruining her plans while Mickey was still just an apprentice. She had known he would sense and stop any big magic she tried to send against him. Instead she had planted an insidious spell to grow in secret and then wait until he was absent to eat the Cornerstone of Light and all his loved ones in Disney Castle too.

"Mickey!"

He kept swinging.

"Mickey!" The voice was louder now.

Something grabbed his foot. Dripping dark magic, the tentacle hoisted him into the air like a worm on a hook. He slashed at it, but it held him away and threw fresh magic at him. His fur sizzled. All around him, razor-toothed mouth opened, black fangs glistening, ready to devour him. Mickey felt a pulling sensation and his heart skittered, suddenly beating irregularly. It was like he was having a heart attack. He gasped, but dark magic flowed into his mouth and clogged his throat.

Something burst through the maelstrom in a whirlwind of blue sparks. "Mickey! I'm here!"

"No!" Mickey tried to yell. His heart skittered again. He felt like he was dying. Was this how Father felt when he died? "Stay back! This thing will kill you!"

"As if!" The figure danced and spun in a display of acrobatics that would have made any circus ringmaster salivate. "You're in a worse spot than me."

"Get back!" Mickey insisted. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, you sure look it." The figure hoisted a small glowing bundle high above its head. "Special delivery from your wife, buddy. She told you not to come in here. She was trying to tell you this wasn't ready yet. You should listen to her more; when it comes to magic she knows what she's doing."

Mickey swung. Missed. Sagged.

"Time to take out Maleficent's dumb-ass curse once and for all!" Winding up like a ball player, his rescuer threw the object at him. "Use your keyblade! Hit it!"

Mickey had no choice. He swung out one more time with exhausted arms and connected with it mid-flight. A rainbow of light exploded outward, cutting through the darkness like a salt bomb in snow. The dripping dark mouths opened again, but this time they were screaming. Maleficent's magic shrank back in pain and fear. Minnie's own powerful enchantment mixed with the might of keyblade to dissolve everything in an ever-widening circle.

The tentacle holding him vanished. Mickey dropped to a ground that hadn't been visible before. The chamber began to reappear. He looked around in astonishment. No wonder Minnie had told him to wait. He had thought there wasn't time and it had nearly cost him his life. He would listen to her in future. He would also track down that green-faced witch and make her pay for trying to swamp his kingdom in dark magic so he would be too busy to stop her stealing other worlds' Princesses.

"It worked," he breathed, a huge grin spreading across his face even as his limbs trembled with fatigue. "It actually worked."

His expression fell when he spotted the crumpled body on the floor.

Blood simultaneously drained from his face and pounded in his ears. He was aware he was moving, but he couldn't feel the floor or hear his footsteps. All he registered was that the figure didn't get up even when the last of the cloying darkness had fizzled away.

"No," someone yelled using his voice. "No! _No!"_

* * *

Mickey hunkered down next to the fire, taking the stick from Riku to poke at the wood. It flared higher as he turned over the pieces to let them burn better. "Home is a place that holds both good memories and bad. We can't stay away just because we don't like the bad ones."

"You sound like you're talking from experience," Riku said doubtfully.

"I am." The constantly shifting white, yellow, red and orange of the fire was hypnotic. Mickey stared at it rather than his young travelling companion. "The first time I met Maleficent, I was still an apprentice to my own master. I was naïve and stupid."

"You?" Riku almost scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"Everyone starts out naïve and stupid, Riku," Mickey said softly. "We learn from our mistakes and we get wiser as we experience more of the world around us."

"Or worlds," Riku said, looking around and trying to mask a shiver.

"Yes," Mickey said, half to himself.

….

"Leave, witch," Yen Sid said in a commanding tone that could literally bring mountains to their knees. "You and your dark desires have no place here. Depart forthwith, or you shall find yourself beaten down by a sharp retribution."

The woman with the green face gave a mocking bow. "All hail the great and powerful wizard, whose word we must, of course, all obey without question. Far be it for anyone to ever question it. Or him." Her face snapped into a snarl like a steel trap around the leg of some unfortunate animal. "Your time is done, old man. Out of my way."

Yen Sid refused to be cowed. Mickey could feel raw magic rolling off him. Usually he was better at concealing his power, which meant he was broadcasting now as a warning to the woman. Despite all the months he had spent living and travelling with his master, Yen Sid could still amaze Mickey with the amount of sheer power contained within that frail old body. He looked at the woman with eyes like molten steel.

"You shall not render this world part of your foul plans," Yen Sid said in his curious old-fashioned speech. Not for the first time, Mickey wondered how old he actually was. There had to be a reason why his master sounded that way and refused to have modern conveniences in his house – like a stove or indoor plumbing.

"Your time is past," she replied. The bottom of her staff cracked against the stone floor as she raised and lowered it to emphasise her words.

At least, Mickey thought she was just emphasising her words – until plumes of black smoke shot from under it like octopus ink. Half-formed shapes appeared in the swirls; things with fangs, claws and too many legs. Unintelligible chattering cut into the air.

Mickey swallowed hard and took up a ready stance, but before any of the shapes could form properly, Yen Sid shook his head.

"Parlour tricks," he muttered. He blew as if trying to get the embers of a fire to strengthen, but instead of plain air, what looked like an icy blue gale shot from his pursed lips. The black smoke crystallised for a beautiful moment and shattered. Yen Sid folded his arms. "I state again, witch; this world is under my protection. Leave now or suffer the consequences."

"Master," Mickey whispered, "are you sure you should let her go?"

"Mercy is not a common trait, mouseling," Yen Sid replied without looking at him. "It behoves us all to be rarer in our conduct."

"Huh?" Mickey wasn't sure he understood. He was never entirely sure he understood what Yen Sid said.

"Mercy is for the weak," Maleficent interrupted. She raised her arms, cloak billowing like a giant pair of wings. The black fabric grew even darker, boiling with more chattering shapes that shot out in fresh plumes of magic. "Get out of my way or _you _will suffer the consequences! This world is _mine_!"

Mickey thought about the girl with the glowing crystal ball, Eilonwy, who had been so kind to him. She had given Mickey and his master food from what she had been roasting over a fire, even though it meant she and her travelling companions had less to eat. Mickey suspected she wouldn't deprive them of their meal, but would instead go hungry herself tonight. Maleficent would hurt Eilonwy if she caught her, he was sure of it. It drove away his caution so he could meet the oncoming horde bravely despite his shaking knees.

Mickey wasn't naturally brave. Rather, his bravery came from stepping over his fears into battle and trying to pretend they weren't there until afterwards. They were like the worst backseat driver in the world. Yen Sid should have chosen someone else to be the next Keyblade master; someone smart and fearless. If he had to have a Disneyland prince, he would have been better off choosing –

Behind Yen Sid rose what looked like an enormous spider with a hen's beak full of shark's teeth. Yen Sid hadn't noticed it behind him as he swept away some other awful creature in front of him.

"Look out, Master!" Mickey shouted. His conscious mind disengaged. Abruptly, all the training he had endured slotted into place in his head, like a magical jigsaw that formed its proper picture when you joggled the box. Mickey swung his keyblade up and around, releasing it with such force that it shot through the creature and out the other side – straight into the figure behind it.

Maleficent screeched as the keyblade pinned her against the wall. The deceptively sharp prongs had only dug into her arm, trapping her in place like a manacle, but it was the arm that held her staff. She glared murderously at Mickey, then at Yen Sid when he made the rest of her creations vanish and turned to face her.

"You chose unwisely, witch."

Maleficent uttered something guttural. It might have been another language, or maybe they were just random noises as she struggled to voice her fury. Her gaze shifted between Yen Sid and Mickey, as if she couldn't decide who she hated more – the man more powerful than her, or the mouseling who had stolen her dignity. She struggled to get free, but the magic of Mickey's keyblade held her in place.

"Master?" Mickey asked. "What are we going to do with her now?"

"You'll pay for this!" she screamed. "Everything you love will pay for this indignity!"

Mickey frowned. "We should …" His mouth went dry as he thought of Eilonwy, Princesses like her on other world and everyone back in his homeworld. Minnie's face in particular rose in his mind. If Maleficent were to ever hurt her, he didn't know what he would do. "We should kill her."

"Such bloodthirstiness, mouseling?" Yen Sid sounded disapproving. "I expected better of you."

"She's dangerous." Mickey met Maleficent's eyes. The words tasted sour but he said them anyway. He had seen what she was capable of. The evidence of her own homeworld was proof of that. She had stolen away the Princess of that world and decimated the place afterwards, killing indiscriminately and razing everything to smoking ruins until nothing could ever live there again. Yen Sid had taken Mickey there as a visual lesson in why Maleficent was not someone to be ignored or taken lightly. "She doesn't deserve to live after what she's done."

"Evil has its place, young one, as does good. The universe may not exist if one were to be without the other," Yen Sid said cryptically.

"Are you supposed to be the force of good?" Maleficent laughed, rather inappropriately, Mickey thought.

"Balance is in the individual as well as the wider state of being," said Yen Sid.

"You always did talk in riddles, old man. And as for you, little mouse," she spat – literally.

Yen Sid's eyes widened. "Mouseling!" he yelled. "Do not let it touch you!"

Mickey reacted instinctively; he raised his arm and summoned his keyblade back to his hand. Her spit met the blade, sizzling like acid. Freed, Maleficent transferred her staff from her ruined arm to her good one and banged it against the floor. Her entire body was instantly swallowed by green flames. Mickey was under no illusion that she had burned herself to death. She had appeared in the middle of those flames when she arrived to try to conquer this world. Her voice echoed around them, though she was no longer there.

"I won't forget this, mouse. I know what world you come from. I've been there. I've been in your beloved's bedroom and watched her sleep. Such a pretty little mouse-maid. Did you know she was born with a heart of pure light, devoid of darkness? And what about the Cornerstone of Light? Such a treasure you left her to guard. Since you've deprived me of this world's Princess, I hope you said your goodbyes to them before you left …"

"Minnie!" Mickey gasped. Without waiting for permission, he turned and slashed open a portal. Yen Sid had told him never to do it, but panic seized him and he acted without thinking. On the other side was Minnie's bedchamber. She looked up in surprise at his sudden entrance. He dashed through, not looking back at his master's appalled face as he rushed to sweep her into his arms. "Minnie! Thank goodness you're all right!"

"Mickey? How did you –? What are you –? Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, voice muffled by his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I … I …" She pushed him away and studied his face, obviously noting the soot and untreated cuts and bruises. He hadn't seen her in months, but the sudden, unexpected reunion was like water in the desert. She looked and felt like home. He would never let Maleficent touch her. "I was worried about you."

* * *

"But you did," Riku pointed out. "See them again, I mean."

Mickey nodded. "They were safe when I rushed home."

"Was Yen Sid angry?"

"That's putting it mildly." Mickey scrunched his face at the memory. "But he understood. He even let me stay for a while, just to make sure, but nothing happened at that time. Maleficent didn't strike against Disneyland, or the castle, or Minnie. Eventually I had to go back to my training. Yen Sid left wards to alert us if Maleficent tried to attack my home. What we didn't know was that she had already planted a trap there – one she didn't even need to be present to invoke."

* * *

The cellar roiled with dark energy. It pulsed around the door, up the walls and across the ceiling, centring around the Cornerstone of Light. The whole room became a whirlpool, the eddying mass shot through with fragments of brilliance, as if light itself was fighting a losing battle to stay alive. The Cornerstone shone through the maelstrom trying to consume it. It was testament to its incredible power that it had not been submerged already. The dark magic had waited years, absorbing ambient energy from the castle above, biding its time until its mistress gave the word for it to ignite. It had one goal: to consume the major defence this world had and destroy everything it had protected after it was gone.

Minnie braced her palms against the door, sending power into a spell to seal it in the chamber. It was a quick-fix that wouldn't last, but it might buy them some time. Her three maidservants waited behind her with varying degrees of nervousness.

"What do we do?" asked Daisy.

Minnie didn't answer. She needed all her concentration to finish her binding spell. She had spent years studying different types of magic and practising the kind that didn't require keyblades or interdimensional travel. Her powers may not be as legendary as her husband's, but what had started as a tiny spark inside her had become formidable with time and effort. After all, a queen had to be able to protect her kingdom when its king was a hero who had to keep jetting off to fight evil on other worlds.

The final piece of the spell chinked into place. The door glowed blue and kept shimmering when she took her hands away. Exhausted, Minnie sagged into waiting arms. Daisy propped her up while Clarabelle and Clara ran around in increasingly small circles. Feathers flew each time they passed and Clara threw up her wings in despair. Clarabelle clasped her face and wailed. Not for the first time, Minnie wished all her maids were as level-headed as Daisy.

"What do you need?" Daisy asked. She didn't bother with ridiculous questions like 'Are you okay?' or 'Are we all going to die if that thing breaks out?' Minnie was grateful for that. It was against her nature to be snappish, even if people did need a swift kick in the tail feathers.

"My books," she murmured just loud enough for Daisy to hear. She winced as Clarabelle screeched about evil spirits and Clara shrieked something that ended 'too young and pretty to die'. "And some time to think."

Daisy nodded. Without letting go of her lady and friend, she stuck out her foot as Clara ran past. The plump hen tripped over on cue, catapulting into Clarabelle. They landed in a heap of squawks, pinafores and exposed petticoats.

"It's the end! The end!" Clarabelle's melodramatic statement was muffled by Clara's wing. "Iff dee enduh!"

"I'll never get to sing on stage!" Clara cried. "I'll never be an opera star if there's no more audience to sing to!"

"Shut up, both of you." Daisy had no qualms about being snappish. "You're not helping. The queen needs all the help she can get right now. Clara, pick yourself up and get the keys to the Special Collection in the library. Make sure the door is unlocked but that nobody gets in there until we arrive. Clarabelle, hot tea and a headache tincture from the Infirmary. Now!"

"But –"

"NOW!"

Galvanised by the steel in her voice, Clara and Clarabelle shot off to do as they had been told. By the time Minnie limped her way up to the library, her private collection of rare spell-books and scrolls would be ready and she would be able to work on defeating the magical time bomb they had been unwittingly sitting on for years.

"Who do you think left it?" Daisy asked, seeming to read her mind.

"Who else?" Minnie replied.

Daisy's voice turned so steely it could have propped up the entire castle on its own. "Maleficent."

Minnie turned her face to the ceiling and bit the inside of her cheek. It didn't do for a queen to have tears in her eyes at a time like this. _Mickey, where are you?_

* * *

The cathedral was festooned with flowers. Garlands of roses covered everything and everywhere. Pink roses hung from the ceiling. Red rose vines twined around the giant pillars. Peach roses threaded their way along pews and vestibules while lavender blooms overflowed from bouquets and baskets stationed around the huge space. Each wedding guest wore a yellow rose they were handed at the door, every petal tipped with scarlet.

"I'm sensing a theme," Donald murmured. "You just left all the planning up to the women, didn't you?"

"I was kinda busy," Mickey replied. He had, in fact, been fighting Heartless and safeguarding a princess on a world filled with steampunk machinery and forgotten civilisations for the last three months. By his tone you would never have guessed he was a king. He sounded like a young man only just keeping a lid on his nerves.

Donald didn't react to him like you would expect either; no fealty and ceremony, just an eye-roll and a pointed look at the guards standing to attention on either side of the aisle. Each was in dress uniform, but only one had a dent in his helmet from the font on his way in. Goofy spotted Donald's look and winked back. He was supremely confident that everything would turn out okay. Cheerful fool. Donald wasn't nearly so optimistic.

The organ struck up. As one, the entire congregation turned to look. Donald heard Mickey gulp as he followed their gaze, and then gasp a little as his bride appeared in the doorway.

Donald wasn't soppy. He hated girly stuff and couldn't bend his mind around what he called 'getting mushy'. Daisy may have had something to say about it, but he thought that kind of thing was unnecessary. Why bother with token gestures? If you loved someone, they should be able to tell, and just knowing you were that important to someone should be enough. Even so, his beak dropped open at the queen in her wedding gown.

Minnie's dress was white and simple. She had avoided gigantic skirts, endless petticoats and trains that needed sixteen people to carry it. She could walk without picking up her hem and only Daisy walked behind, holding something so gossamer it could have been made from woven dragonfly wings. Minnie's long black hair had been left loose and dozens of tiny white rosebuds woven into it, matching the bouquet of fully bloomed white roses in her hands. The bouquet was the most ostentatious thing about her and it still didn't match the spectacle everyone had been talking about in the run-up to today. Previous royal weddings had always centred on the bride's dress and how spectacular it was. Minnie had proven once again that she was not going to be the same kind of queen as her predecessors.

"You look … um, y'look …" Mickey stuttered when she reached them.

Minnie smiled. "Thanks. You scrub up pretty, too." She nudged her shoulder against his as she took her place. "Nice of you to make it."

Right up until this morning, nobody had been sure he was going to arrive in time. Donald had earned his Best Man status by getting him ready and into his place in less than an hour after his battle-scarred gummi ship sputtered into the castle grounds.

Mickey grinned with relief. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

* * *

Minnie sat with her head in her hands and her elbows propped on the table. Her eyeballs ached in their sockets. Her skull throbbed in a way no tincture could touch. Beside her, a pile of books lay open on the table. Several scrolls had rolled onto the floor. She had actually thrown one across the room in a temper. All the while, she could feel the dark magic downstairs throwing itself against her binding spell. When it broke out – and it would – she needed to have something else to use against it. The pressure was finally getting to her.

The door creaked. If it was Daisy, Minnie hoped she had brought something stronger than the tincture. She hoped it wasn't Clara or Clarabelle. Their chatter was the last thing she needed.

A hand came down on her shoulder. Minnie's breath caught in her throat as someone prised her palms away from her face and turned her chin to look up. "Mickey?" she whispered.

He had been gone nearly two months. Maybe she was dreaming. Or maybe this was a hallucination. Maybe the stress and strain had finally driven her over the edge. Maybe she so wanted him to be there she had fooled herself into seeing him. Except that he was touching her. She had hallucinated before, when she experimented with magic beyond her control and nearly broke her own mind. That was when she had created the Special Collection, to house all the books and scrolls containing dangerous magic nobody should use without supervision. None of those hallucinations had been real enough for her to actually feel them.

He was here. He was really _here_.

"Mickey!" With a desperate cry, she threw herself out of her chair and into his arms. Mickey hugged her so tight she could barely breathe, but she didn't care. He smelled of sweat and looked like he hadn't washed once in the last two months, but she didn't care. Anyone could have walked in and seen her blubbing into his shoulder, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that he was here and was holding her. "N-Nice of you to m-make it," she sobbed.

Mickey stroked the back of her head where Maleficent's spell had tried to drag her backwards into the void. The scissors Daisy kept in her pocket had saved her life, but the price had been her hair. Mickey didn't recoil at the feel of stubble. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world," he murmured into her ear.

* * *

Riku watched the king and wondered about his life before starting this journey. He rarely discussed it. It wasn't that he avoided the subject, but he was always sparse with details when he wasn't talking about keyblade-related matters. This was the most he had ever said about his personal life. It felt like a sacred moment.

"Your majesty?"

Mickey blinked and looked away from the campfire. "Hm?"

"You drifted off."

"Hm? Oh!" Mickey gave a self-deprecating grin and rubbed at the back of his head. "I was miles away."

"Do you miss the queen?" Riku asked suddenly.

Mickey looked at him for a moment before replying. It was as if he was weighing his words before saying them. "Every moment of every day," he said softly. "The way you miss Kairi and Sora."

Riku dropped his eyes. Of course the king had figured out the reason behind his question.

"It's okay to miss them, Riku. I know you constantly beat yourself up about your past actions, but that's what they are: the past. You have to … forgive yourself."

The pause wasn't lost on Riku. He raised his eyes sharply. The king was once again staring into the fire, as if the flickering flames held the answers to questions he had wrestled with for a long time. Riku wondered whether he was one of those questions. He acted tough, but sometimes he was still so afraid and unsure of himself, he just wanted to curl up in a ball and go to sleep forever. Some days, only the thought of his friends made him go on. Other days it was the king's gentle confidence that kept him going. So much so that it was odd to see him vulnerable now.

Riku opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it after a few seconds and watched, wondering at the things playing behind Mickey's suddenly sad eyes.

* * *

"You haven't been home to visit in such a long time." Minnie hugged Mickey and fussed around him, tugging at his tattered clothes and sniffing at the smell emanating off them. "Why do you smell of burnt apples and …" she sniffed again. "Dung?"

"Unicorn dung."

"Uni…" She boggled. Unicorns were myths – except on worlds where they weren't, apparently. "What kind of training are you _doing_ with Yen Sid?"

"We're in the field a lot more now. There's so much to do and –" Mickey coughed into his fist, asking hoarsely, "Could I get some water?"

Minnie covered her mouth with both hands. She had been so pleased to see him that she had forgotten all the basics. She ran to the pitcher of cordial she had set out on the table while she worked. As she turned back to him, her elbow caught the pile of paperwork. Several trade agreements, land disputes and ancient bylaws she had been consulting tumbled to the floor. Rather than stop to pick them up, Minnie hastily kicked them aside and went back to her poor, battered husband. Mickey wiped what looked like soot from around his mouth and drank gratefully. Minnie watched him, taking a mental step backwards to really _look_ at him. His clothes were baggy, but despite that she could tell his muscles were much more well-defined than they had been. A small scar sat just below his left ear, the regrowing fur not quite thick enough to mask it yet.

"Thank you," he said at last, putting the empty glass on the bookshelf behind him. Minnie usually hated anyone doing that. This time she honestly couldn't care less.

She reached out to touch the scar. "What have you been doing to yourself?" she murmured.

He caught her hand and pulled it away. He held her one in both of his, rubbing the back with his thumbs. "Saving worlds, fighting bad guys, stopping the forces of Darkness – y'know, the usual." His flippant reply didn't match the haunted look in his eyes. He had seen things since he last saw her. Now it was like he was staring at her so she would block out those other things.

Minnie raised her free hand to cup his cheek, pushing more soot away with her own thumb. "How long can you stay?"

She didn't bother asking whether he had to go back. He always had to go back. The only time he had ever refused was their honeymoon. During that time Maleficent had struck another world and tangled so violently with Yen Sid when he stepped in that they had both nearly died. Mickey had rushed back to tend his master and begged her to come and use her magic to help heal the old man. Minnie had agreed immediately, of course, belatedly taking stock of the plain, bare place her fiancé – no, her new husband now – had been living for the majority of their engagement. He had never refused again and Minnie had never asked him to.

"A few days. Master Yen Sid has some preparations to do." Abruptly Mickey raised his head. His ears twitched.

Minnie heard it too. It was the sound of laughter. Pulling gently on his hands, she led him to the gigantic window that overlooked the gardens. Being shorter than their ancestors, both of them had to stand on tiptoe to see over the sill, but that hid them from anyone who happened to look up.

"Is that …?" Mickey said in wonder.

"Yes," Minnie confirmed. She thrilled to hear that note in his voice. The last couple of times he had returned he had sounded so jaded and weary. She feared for his sanity as much as his safety.

"He sounds so … happy; so light-hearted. I've … never heard him sound like that." He paused. "Ever. Who's that with him?"

"Her name is Ortensia. She works in the kitchens."

"Are they …?"

"Together? Yes. Though it took a while. She kept rejecting him."

"_She_ rejected _him_?" Mickey said disbelievingly. "No girl ever rejects him."

"Well Ortensia did."

"But he's a prince!"

"That's why she did it. She didn't want the scandal."

"For him? A bit late for that. He already has a reputation a mile long. And a string of nicknames."

Minnie knew; even more had sprung up in Mickey's absence: Heartbreaker, Prince of Broken Hearts and, perhaps cruellest of all, 'The Clown Prince'. A lot of them were designed to compare one brother unfavourably with the other. "Actually, Ortensia didn't want the scandal for herself. She said she didn't want to be known as just another of his conquests. It made her unattainable. You said it yourself: no girl ever rejects him." Just everybody else in his entire life. Except Mickey, but that had never seemed to matter.

"They seem … happy." The word was such a small one, but Mickey said it in a way that made it sound like poetry.

He had only ever wanted those around him to be happy. It was what had made him a brilliant hero – and not such a great king. Blasphemous to say so, maybe, but Minnie saw her husband's flaws as well as his good qualities. She ran things while he was away and knew that in disputes, rarely were both sides ever truly satisfied at the end of negotiations. Keeping a kingdom going was a delicate balancing act that sometimes meant doing the right thing, and sometimes meant doing as much of the right thing as you could before the situation collapsed and everything became the wrong thing. Mickey was used to clear delineations between Light and Darkness. Politics was a world made entirely of grey.

Minnie sighed. "You need to clean up."

Mickey shook himself and turned back to her. His smile was broad and genuine – and made her heart ache. "Sure thing."

* * *

The puppy barked. Mickey stared at it. Something green and gooey was stuck to its head and the end of its thin tail. A sticky green filament joined the two places. What was it; a melted jelly-baby? Mulched up grass? Giant's snot? One of Donald's magical experiments gone wrong?

"Um …" he said. It wasn't a great response.

"Ortensia found him pawing through the garbage. How the hell he got into the castle grounds is anyone's guess, but he ran off and laid waste to Donald's workroom before we caught him. He's friendly, he stinks and that dumb magician was so mad he turned purple and had _literal _steam coming out of his ears." Mickey didn't have to look up to hear the smile in the words. "I like him."

Conversations were such delicate things. This was the third time he had come home since he first heard the name 'Ortensia'. Now he heard it at least once an hour, usually in tones reserved for soppy romance novels and epic poems about women whose beauty could start wars. Mickey cleared his throat.

"He's … real friendly."

"Ain't he just?" There was that refusal to use proper grammar again; like a verbal rebellion against aristocratic life. Mickey wondered if Father still reprimanded him for that. Unlikely. King Magnus had divorced himself from his firstborn's activities a long time ago, and these days old age and waning health made sure he didn't have the strength to care.

The puppy bounded right to the end of its leash, barking furiously. His tail wagged so hard Mickey expected it to start flying like a whirligig.

"I'm calling him Pluto."

"Pluto?" Mickey echoed. "Why Pluto?"

"He chewed up one of Donald's 'science of magic' books and a bit of paper with that written on it was sticking out of his mouth."

"So … you're naming him just to tick off Donald?"

"No. Well, not just that. C'mon, Mick, you gotta admit, Donald's rages are just _too_ funny to watch. Now, every time he sees this little guy, he'll be extra entertaining."

The moment balanced on a knife edge. Donald was Mickey's friend. It felt wrong to laugh behind his back. Even so, moments like this were rare and fleeting. Mickey felt like if he didn't catch its coattails, there might not be another one, Ortensia or not.

He took a breath. "Just be ready to jump in front of Pluto if Donald tries to turn him into a frog or something. You remember the last time he got angry and flung magic about, don't you?"

"Sure, but if he shrinks Pluto like he did Chip and Dale, we can call the little fellah a handbag dog and Minnie can start using that purse you gave her for her birthday."

Mickey was surprised. The two engineers had been shrunk months ago in an incident involving Donald's temper, bats, rocket fuel and the phrase 'the wrong place at the wrong time'. "Aren't they proper size yet?"

"Apparently they prefer being small. It helps to be able to climb inside an engine to fix it."

"Oh."

Another knife-edge moment. Mickey was about to break it again when suddenly he didn't have to. His hand of friendship was grasped.

"C'mon, you can help me give Pluto a bath."

The puppy barked and tried to lick Mickey's face.

"All right," he laughed, his heart lighter than he could ever remember it being.

* * *

The court magician had a new apprentice: a duckling from the provinces who was apparently very talented, if not well-mannered. He yelled when he got mad, and he got mad a lot. He also got frightened a lot, since he was obviously out of place amongst the nobles and servants of the castle. He shrank behind his master when the king was around and gawked at the princes and visiting noble children when he thought they weren't watching.

"You should make friends with him," Minnie advised when she was brought over for a playdate. The adults didn't call it a playdate, but that's what it was. "He's far from home and all alone."

"I don't think he wants to make friends," Mickey replied.

"You'd be surprised."

Still, Mickey hesitated. That is, until the day he was crossing the courtyard and someone yelled out from one of the towers.

"Look out below!"

A shadow of a figure with wings fell across him. He dodged aside, just in time for something to splat on the ground and erupt into a crash mat, of the kind found in the gym when guards were doing hand-to-hand training. Something white, blue and brown thumped into the middle, cursing wildly. Mickey peered as it got up, revealing a broken frame of bamboo-like sticks and flapping fabric. Bits of gold sparkly dust fell away, disappearing before they hit the ground.

"Sorry," the figure said. "Oh my … your majesty!" It fell over itself – literally – trying to bow while tied to the bamboo frame. "Oof! I didn't mean to … dang it! Stupid razzin' frazzin' thing … arggh!"

"Do you need some help?" Mickey recognised the magician's apprentice. "Are you stuck?"

"I'm fine!" the apprentice squeaked. "Just … trying … to … nff … fly … but …"

"Fly?" Mickey echoed. "With that thing?"

"Um …" After a moment, the apprentice nodded. "I call it a free-glider. It works the same as a hang-glider, but using magic so you can fly even when there's no updraft." He looked embarrassed. "It's a side project I've been working on in my spare time …"

"How does it work?"

"Huh?"

"Do you flap those things?" Mickey gestured to the vaguely wing-like constructs.

"Uh …" the apprentice fumbled for words. "No, you just … they just …" He stopped. "You're the Crown Prince."

Mickey's heart dropped. He lowered his head for a moment; not this again. Every time he tried to have a conversation these days, people got all weird and scared. He wished his father had chosen differently. He didn't _want_ to be Crown Prince. All it had brought him was loneliness and stress.

And Minnie. If he had not been named Crown Prince, she would not be betrothed to him. For a moment he was torn, weighing the two things in his mind and in his heart. He was startled when he realised the apprentice was talking again.

"I didn't mean … I just … you're so …" He scrubbed at the back of his head. "You're so _normal_."

"Sure I'm normal. What were you expecting?"

"I dunno. Not …" The apprentice gestured. "Aren't you gonna punish me or yell or something for nearly squishing you?"

"But you didn't squish me."

"Yeah, but …" The apprentice blinked, evidently thinking of mouths, gift horses and unwanted dentistry. "Am I in trouble?"

"Not with me."

"Will I be in trouble if I clean up and pretend like this never happened?"

"Can I have a go if you get that thing working?"

The apprentice stared at him. "You're …" He shook his head. "This whole castle is nothing like I imagined. Sure, you can have a go. I just have to invent a fool proof charm to make sure you don't get hurt in an emergency landing, or my master will stuff his pillows with my feathers."

Mickey laughed. He couldn't help it. The apprentice looked so serious and woebegone. "What's your name?"

"Donald Darnel Darwin Drummond Dunmore McDuck. But mostly just Donald."

Mickey gaped. Even he had fewer names than that!

Donald looked down, clearly embarrassed. "My folks thought having lots of middle names would help me fit in here. My uncle's kinda rich and they took his advice. Before I came here, though, it was just Donald McDuck."

Mickey caught himself and stuck out his hand. When the apprentice didn't take it, he grabbed one feathery hand and pumped it up and down energetically. "Nice to meet you, Donald. I'm Mickey."

"I know who _you_ are," Donald protested. "Everyone knows you!"

Mickey just smiled sadly and wondered whether that was true.

* * *

"So you're my bodyguard?" Mickey looked up. And up. And up.

"Yessir." The dog clicked his heels together and snapped off a salute. "Private Goof, reportin' for duty, sir."

"I told my father I don't need a bodyguard." Mickey struggled not to sound exasperated. Ever since the king had heard about Maleficent he had posted double guards everywhere, invested in gunpowder weapons and insisted the court magician put up wards strong enough to stop a charging bull elephant. Now this? He should have been touched that his father wanted to keep him safe, but this really was too much. "I'm barely around long enough to need one. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"Beggin' your pardon, yer highness, but I reckon your father wants peace o' mind as much as anythin' else." His expression shifted into a mask of concern. "He ain't been well lately, sir, an' … well, it'd do him a power o' good to think he helped in keepin' you safe."

Mickey blinked at him. "That is … remarkably perceptive. You don't mind speaking your mind, do you?"

The mask of concern became one of alarm. "Gawrsh, I didn't mean to talk outta turn. Darn it, I promised myself I'd keep quiet in this job. I always talk too much. Like right now. So I'll quit talking. Would you like me to quit talking, sir?"

Mickey's mouth tugged into an unbidden smile. "No, I think you talking would be a really good thing to keep around."

Private Goof grinned wide enough to split his face in two. "Gawrsh, thank you, yer majesty."

"Just call me Mickey."

* * *

Yen Sid opened the portal to send him home. Mickey was too frantic to do it himself without creating too many repercussions, like he had after that first battle with Maleficent when he had risked showing everyone with the capacity to watch the exact location of his home world and how to access it. This time he was just too stunned.

"Go quickly and surely, young mouseling," Yen Sid said, patting his shoulder. "Do what must be done."

Goofy met him first on the other side. He put a steadying hand on Mickey's shoulder and guided him through the maze of corridors to the king's bedchamber.

"I didn't realise he was so sick," Mickey murmured dully.

"He didn't want you to." Goofy steered him through the ornate double doors. "Pride can be a terrible thing, yer majesty."

"Just call me Mickey," Mickey parroted, as he had done every time Goofy did that. He stopped this time, footsteps halting as it occurred to him that this wasn't right anymore. "I'm not ready for this."

"Just take it one step at a time," Goofy advised. "First step is through there. Second step is sayin' g'bye. Third step … well, I'll let her explain the third step."

Mickey looked up to see Minnie in the doorway to the bedchamber. She looked haggard and sympathetic and so beautiful he wanted to cry. It was the first thing he had truly felt since he got the news to come home.

"Oh Mickey," she whispered, opening her arms and letting him fall into them. "It was quick."

"Don't lie to me," he choked out. "I know he's been sick for months and nobody told me."

"He never let anybody see the signs. He was a proud mouse."

"He was a prideful mouse," Mickey replied bitterly. He had always hoped that when he had finished his training with Yen Sid, he would come home and repair his relationship with his father so it was more like that one he had with his master. Now he would never get that chance. A lot of things would never happen now. "He never let anyone get close to him."

"He was afraid of being hurt again," said Minnie.

She was right, of course. After Mother died, Father had never been the same. Guilt had eaten away at him from the inside. He had kept everyone at arm's length, sometimes being actively cruel to keep what he perceived to be a safe distance between himself and the rest of the world. That had worked for him, but not for his sons. One had wanted desperately for his father's approval, but knew the simple fact he wasn't around to learn to be king was a wedge between them. The other wanted desperately for a simple demonstration that he had value and that his choices in life mattered.

"That's not a good enough reason," Mickey snapped. "Not to cut his own family out of his heart and refuse to let them back in."

Minnie rubbed his back and shushed him. After a while she asked, "Do you want to see him?"

He didn't, but he knew he should. It would be unfinished otherwise. When he got inside, however, it was to find someone already crouched by the bedside, holding their father's cold hand in both of his. He didn't get up when Mickey approached; just kept hold the dead king's fingers like they might squeeze back.

"Surprised to see me?"

Mickey shook his head. "No."

"Liar."

Silence fell, thick and uncomfortable.

"I should be glad he's dead. I should feel like I'm finally free of his disapproval."

Mickey said nothing.

"Right from the beginning, he hated me and hated having me around. He only kept me in the castle out of a sense of duty and because he was terrified that if he threw me out he really would be throwing out his own flesh and blood. It was just … he needed an heir and a spare." The words came out raspy, as though a lot of tears had come before them in the quiet of the dark room. "I should hate him right back, but …"

"But you don't?" Mickey finished.

"No." The raspiness increased. "I don't. I should hate him, but I don't. I don't love him either, but I … I wanted … I just wanted him to want me. For me. Not because he didn't have a choice or because I was necessary. Just because he wanted _me_." Eyes glassy with tears fixed on Mickey's. "That's all I ever wanted. And now I'll never get it."

Mickey's own throat felt dry as sandpaper. "I wanted you."

"Yeah?" A crooked smile. A half-shrug that said so much more than it seemed to.

"No, really." To mickey, convincing him of this was suddenly the most important thing in this or another world. "I did."

"I guess I never accepted that. If he didn't want me as his son and kept choosing you, the little goody-two-shoes who always did what he was told, why the hell would you go against his wishes and want me as your brother? I …" The pause seemed to stretch on forever. "I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean much now, but –"

"No," Mickey cut him off. "No, it means a lot." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "It … right now it means … everything."

"You're king now."

"I don't care."

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"There are more important things than titles and inheritance. Like …" Mickey swallowed, hoping he didn't sound so cheesy he was implausible. He meant this. "Like family."

Minnie quietly stepped out of the room and closed the doors on the two embracing brothers and their shared grief for a father for whom neither had ever quite been good enough.

* * *

"You're not dead," Mickey insisted, holding his brother's broken body close. Blood trickled from one corner of his mouth. It matched the stream coming from Mickey's nose as he exerted his already exhausted strength.

The last vestiges of Maleficent's maelstrom crackled around them. The air was full of what felt like static electricity. Mickey didn't register any of it. He barely registered the victory. He was too fixated on summoning magic. He had to have some left inside for this. He couldn't have used it all up fighting that battle. He went deep inside himself, to his very core. No, not his core; his heart. That pulsing, essential thing brimmed with the most basic kind of energy in the multiverse: life energy.

He looked up at the Cornerstone of Light and yelled, "He's not dead! She can't have him! I won't let this happen!"

The Cornerstone began to glow in response to his rising magic.

The door burst open behind them. Minnie and the others tumbled into the room. She saw the tell-tale light in his chest, the body in his arms, the lack of dark magical energy and yelled out her own denial. Minnie knew magic better than anyone else except him. She knew that if he was resorting to this, he was desperate.

"No, Mickey, don't!"

"I have to!" he yelled back.

"You're too weak from the fight! It'll kill you!"

"Better me than him!" Mickey closed his eyes and called up everything he had left. "He came to rescue me, even though he doesn't have any magic of his own. He saved my life! I can't let him die now."

"Mickey!" Minnie screamed as the whole room erupted in the blinding light of a keyblader's heart spilling over with his own escaping life.

* * *

Mickey shook himself out of his stupor. Riku was staring at him. "You have to forgive yourself," he repeated. "You can't move forward if you're still hung up on the past."

"Easier said than done," Riku muttered.

Mickey said nothing.

….

Minnie waited outside the door. She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone tapped her shoulder. She whirled to find a small black cat in a pink dress standing behind her.

"Ortensia!"

She had elevated the kitchen maid to handmaiden after Maleficent's attack. It seemed the least she could do, though none of it had actually been her fault. She felt responsible; after all, it was her magic she had given him to save Mickey after he ran into the chamber with just his keyblade and no plan. If she hadn't handed over that package …

Ortensia nodded at her and then at the door. "Is the king in there again?"

Minnie gave her own nod. "Would you like to –"

"No." Ortensia shook her head with certainty, though when she spoke her voice was thick with emotion that said otherwise. "It's not him. It's what was left, cobbled together to look and sound like him; but it's not him."

"He didn't die, Ortensia," said Minnie. "Not all the way."

"He died," Ortensia responded. "I loved him. I'll always love him, but I've accepted that fact. He died saving the king and our whole world." She sniffed. "And everybody remembers and loves him for it. It was what he always wanted; to be acknowledged as just as good as his brother and to get the respect he deserved."

Minnie's throat felt tight. "Mickey can't accept that."

"How long will the king keep torturing himself like this?"

She let out a hollow, mirthless laugh. "How long is a piece of string?"

* * *

The transition to monochrome was always jarring. Mickey had done it enough times, however, that it barely bothered him. Once inside Timeless River he followed along the bank, being careful to avoid other facsimiles in case he created a problem in the time-space continuum. Yen Sid would probably have lots to say about this, but in this Mickey was willing to defy him.

He found the little bobbing house and looked over the wall to see a familiar figure practising his fencing moves with a rubbery sword. He twirled and danced in a semblance of his old grace, dressed only in a pair of overalls like a commoner instead of a prince, illegitimate or not. He had been wearing overalls when he was left at the palace by his mother. One side had no button and had hung loose, exposing half a thin chest. He wasn't perfect, but he was the best Mickey had been able to do, working with an incomplete soul and only his own meagre reserves of magic. The Cornerstone had done what it could. He told himself every time he came here that it had been enough.

At the sound of his footsteps, the chubby rabbit turned and broke into a wide grin. "Hey, Mickey! What's shakin'?"

Mickey pasted on a smile and opened the garden gate. "Hi, Oswald."

* * *

_**Fin.**_

* * *

_And if you care to stay in our little corner of the world,  
We could hide away in our little corner of the world,  
We always knew that we'd find someone like you,  
So welcome to our little corner of the world.  
_

- From **My Little Corner of the World** by Yo La Tengo


End file.
